


Thursday Nights

by patriciatepes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Con/Non-Con, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Doggy Style, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Rape Fantasy, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes
Summary: Dawn has made a deal with Crowley, which leaves her currently working on finding a powerful mystical object for him.  But all work and no play... She might avoid his Thursday Night orgies, but only because she has an engagement of her own to get to... which Crowley is about to discover, much to his delight.
Relationships: Dawn Summers/Crowley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: WIP Big Bang Challenge 2020





	Thursday Nights

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is sort of the first story that leads into one I intend to write that will be multi-chaptered. I don't know when I'm getting to that one, but this particular idea I had to get off of my mind.

She had yet to deliver. But Crowley didn't mind. Sure, he was known for his non-patience, but he enjoyed having her around. True, also, that she was only around because she was contractually obligated to be so, but tomato, tomahto. She was an intriguing young woman, that Dawn Summers, and Crowley didn't mind in the least that she was still stuck going in and out of his little Hell-on-Earth hub.

Dawn had promised to deliver an immensely powerful object, a Babel Stone, said to give its user the ability to read and understand any language, even theoretically the Word of God. In exchange, Crowley's demons had to stay away from the Slayers, a superpowered girls'club. Crowley had no idea what Dawn's association with them was, as he was never much interested in them in the first place, as their primary antagonists were all weird versions of vampires. He would surmise a relative of hers was one, but that was just that, a guess. It was an easy enough want to grant, and it made sense back when she first made the deal: when the apocalypse was nigh. But there was no expiration date on the contract, and even though the worry was not so much one anymore—on her end, at least; Crowley needed that Stone now more than ever, Dawnie was still under his thumb. Of course, he was no fool. He was well aware of the slippery nature of humanity, especially once given free reign. The collateral in this deal was Dawn's soul. So he knew, without a doubt, that the girl was searching _hard_.

As it was, her base of operations was one of the rooms at Crowley's court in Needham Asylum. Again, another guess, but he would bet that her Slayer cohorts knew nothing of said deal. She practically lived in the Asylum in between running down some scrap of info she had dug up from some dusty old text or another. The times she was at the Asylum she considered "slumps."

She was in one such slump—for about a month and a half. It was a curious thing to have a relatively normal human housed in with demons, unafraid. It was even a bit funny. Especially since, every Thursday night, after court was adjourned, Crowley held his weekly orgy. Dawn, despite numerous invites, had yet to attend. She seemed to hate them. She left every night, right before the start of it, and arrived late into the night, long after everyone was sated and moving on. It intrigued Crowley. And as much as he was growing impatient, wanting the Stone, it piqued his curiosity. This was literally hours she spent gone. And she was always dressed a similar way, a long black overcoat, buttoned from her chin down to nearly her ankles. There were always heels paired with the outfit hidden beneath the coat. Crowley could hear the rhythmic clicking of them as she briskly made her way out of the Asylum.

As they did now, on this particular Thursday night, where, instead of making the orgy room ready, Crowley sat on his throne, the doors to the room open wide. Dawn swept by, her long tawny hair bouncing with the gait of her step.

"Dawnie, my dear, have you a moment?" he called.

She almost screeched to a halt outside the doors. She looked over her shoulder at the King of Hell, the annoyance almost visible on her face. But she schooled her features, turning to fully face the demon.

"Yes, Crowley?" she asked.

She was always cordial. Not overly polite, nor kowtowing to him. And she never insulted him like certain hunters he knew that shall remain unnamed. It was kind of refreshing. Especially since he could almost physically feel the frustration and annoyance and anger rolling off her.

"Where are you going?" he asked. Best to be direct, at times.

"Out."

Ah, so it was like that. He smirked, hiding it behind a hand that made the move look more annoyed than he was. He had expected evasiveness.

"Yes, I can see. But where is your destination?"

There it was. In her eyes, for just a moment, a flash of something. Crowley would have sworn it was panic. He would think that she was somehow conspiring against him, but… he was well acquainted with that brand of panic. The one he had seen in her was… different. It was borne of a different emotion… embarrassment?

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your orgy?" she snipped, the closest she ever got to an attitude.

"Perhaps. But I asked you a question, my little sunrise."

At this she smiled, a small, tight smile. "This isn't related to the research for the Babel Stone, so I don't have to tell you. Have a fun night, Crowley."

With that, she flounced off. Crowley huffed out a laugh. Not a second later, a demon wearing a blonde-haired, six-foot supermodel entered the room.

"The room is ready for you, Your Majesty," she said, bowing deeply.

Crowley stood, straightening his jacket. "Orgy's canceled tonight, love. I've got other plans. Clear out."

She looked up, blinking. "M-my lord?"

He brushed past her. "You heard me. Clear out. And when I come back, I don't want a demon in sight. Not until tomorrow morning, after sunrise. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"Excellent," he said, snapping his fingers.

Demons could hide themselves from human sight. Nobody ever remembered that. He'd done it several feet from freakin' Dean Winchester, having a chat with Feathers. It came in bloody handy. So, hidden from sight, he followed after Dawn Summers—going so far as to even hitch a ride in the back seat of her car.

The building—a town over—they came to a stop before was the very picture of nondescript. Brick, painted solid black, with a black door that looked more like it belonged to a top-secret military facility rather than… whatever the hell this place was. But Dawn parked, rounded the front end of her car, and rapped on the door. Crowley followed close behind. A little latch-door slid open with much more force than what was necessary. A pair of black, beady eyes stared out at her.

"Here for Thursday's entertainment?" the man behind the door, with a deep, velvet voice asked.

"Heard it's all about the popcorn," Dawn answered, and Crowley's brow furrowed.

The latch-door closed, and the larger door was opened. Dawn and Crowley entered, with Dawn all but running down the small, dark hall they found themselves in. What had his little Dawnie gotten herself into here? He let her get a bit ahead, disappearing around a corner, as he meandered a bit up the hall.

There were a few doors on his left and right, all closed, and the only light shining was coming from the corner that Dawn had disappeared around. Curious noises surrounded him, dimmed by walls and probably precautions made to make them muffled deliberately. He turned the corner and stopped.

There were several people in the lounge he now found himself in, men and women. There was a bar against the far-left wall, but it was small, and the bartender looked a touch bored, despite the fact that every stool was filled. None of this would have been strange on its own, but it was the way everyone looked. Sure, a couple people, here and there, were dressed as normally as anyone seen on the streets. But most… most were completely dressed in either heavily revealing outfits or straight-up fetish wear. It was amazing the amount of rubber dresses that were in the room. It was also very interesting the amount of people masturbating in plain view. Most, though, were talking—and yes, doing some very heavy petting—enjoying each other's company.

Now that Crowley was in the lounge—still invisible, lest someone wonder how he had gotten in—he could hear some of those other noises much more clearly. They were a familiar music to his ears. Whips, canes, chains, screams, and moans of pure ecstasy filled the room. Crowley couldn't suppress his grin.

A BDSM club. His little sunrise had led him to a BDSM club. He meandered through the lounge, eyeing the club's members as though he were shopping at a grocery store. He wound around them all, unseen, enjoying a face or two that was screwed up with pleasure, and enjoying even more the ones that were twisted with pain. Because, even in those, there was pleasure. After a moment, though, he decided to continue on his original reason for coming to this place—following Dawn. He noticed an open hall at the other end of the lounge, and he followed it, listening for the lovely young woman's voice. He ambled past several open doors that had people in all sorts of compromising positions, from touching, to whipping, to straight-up fucking (and that was all types of fucking imaginable). He felt truly at home here. It was a shame he had to be here incognito. He could show a few of these folks a thing or two. He came to abrupt halt when a moan from the door on the right side of the hall, directly in front of him, sounded familiar.

He peeked around the corner and had to stop his jaw from dropping. This was never how he would have pictured Miss Summers at all… but it was definitely a fun, new image he was forming now.

She was suspended from chains that were, in themselves, suspended from the ceiling. He could see some comfort and safety measures had been taken, as well as careful planning as to the location of each chain and manacle set. Dawn's arms were straight out from their sides, held in a loose T, while her legs were behind her, held spread open, of course. And she wasn't wearing her coat any more… no, not at all.

The dress she was in was solid black as far as the straps that fell off her shoulders and the bustier part went. The rest was a sheer mesh that fell to her ankles—in carefully hemmed strips of fabric from the waist down. A black thong lay discarded on the floor, and a man, fully nude, wearing a black mask and an erect, impressive cock stood over her, a rattan cane in hand. He held it by its leather grip, tapping the exposed, plain wood in his other hand.

"Does the little missy think she can handle fifteen this time?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir. Please, sir," Dawn begged.

Crowley's cock twitched, the sound was so delicious. Dawn had never seemed like the begging type, so hearing her do just that… Crowley adjusted his stance in the doorway. If he lost control now, there would be no way of knowing what could happen.

The Dom brought the cane down across the back of Dawn's right buttock, leaving a bright red welt where it had been—of course, not breaking the skin. She yelped, followed immediately by, "One, sir. Thank you."

"Very good," the Dom purred. "You're better than last time. Stay this good, and I'll be sure to reward you. Would Missy like that?"

Her head bobbed in a nod. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll be good, sir."

Crowley stayed and watched the next three hits, each one with Dawn counting them back and thanking the Dom for them. By the fourth one, his grin was Cheshire-like, and he had never been happier to have ordered the demons out of the asylum for the night. He snapped his fingers, returning home to sit on his throne. He crossed his legs, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, and waiting patiently for his little sunrise's return home.

Oh, boy, was he going to make her shine.

#

Very sore, but also very sated, Dawn walked lazily up the stone stairs and through the old, but still functional, heavy doors of the asylum. Her long coat was buttoned up as usual, and she hated the heels she was in now that her night out was over. They were great for completing "the look," but a bitch in every other aspect—the actual stem of the heel so thin that it took a great amount of concentration to keep from twisting her ankle. She shut the doors behind her, huffed a breath, and continued toward her room.

"Dawnie, Dawnie, Dawnie," Crowley's voice yanked her to a halt in front of the still open doors to his "throne room."

She turned, seeing the King of Hell, perched on his throne, legs crossed, and a small grin on his face. She smirked.

"Had a fun night?" she snipped.

"Funny. I was going to ask the same of you."

She froze, trying to act like she hadn't. Crowley raised his right hand, crooked his finger, and motioned for her to enter. Every fiber of her being told her to ignore him and go to bed. But he was her "boss," in a manner of speaking. The Slayers had enough to worry about, so if Dawn could stop one of the prophecies she had found that had survived the Council's destruction from coming true by striking this little deal, then so be it. Unfortunately, that meant staying on Crowley's good side. With a sigh, she entered the throne room, stopping a few feet away from him. She gave a mock bow, glancing up from under her curtain of hair, expecting him to look angry at her insolence. He usually looked at least annoyed with her. But not this time. Now, he was still grinning, like he knew something she didn't.

"Your orgy ended early tonight, didn't it? Usually, I still hear screams and moans as I go to bed," Dawn noted, tired of Crowley just staring at her.

"I cancelled it."

"What?"

Dawn stared at the demon as he leaned forward in his throne. Crowley always had his orgies. He often mentioned, almost wistfully, that it was the best part of being king. She crossed her arms, feeling a sudden chill creeping over her skin. Something felt off.

"What's wrong? What happened?" she asked.

Crowley's grin seemed even wider as he stood and walked over to her. Slowly, he began to circle her—like a predator and its prey, or maybe a vulture zeroing in on lunch. He paused just behind her, gently resting his chin on her shoulder. Before she could shrug him off, he pressed a single finger to her back and gently slid it up between her shoulder blades. The whipping she had received from her Master at the club was still fresh, making a feeling that was somewhere between tingling and stinging. She stiffened under the touch.

"Where do you go to every Thursday night, Dawnie?" he whispered.

A thin sheen of cold sweat began to form on her brow. Suddenly, it felt like she was wearing all sorts of neon signs that spilled every single one of her secrets for the King of Hell to read at his leisure. She swallowed.

"None of your business," she said evenly.

Crowley moved until he was standing right in front of her. "Normally, I would agree. You see, since you decline my invitation to my orgy every Thursday, and I'm sure you're not plotting to overthrow me, I don't care. But… curiosity got the better of me."

Dawn felt all the blood drain from her face only to instantly return as what she was sure had to be the hottest and brightest blush ever. Crowley chuckled under his breath.

"Naughty, naughty girl, Dawn. Such a place isn't good for such a respectable young lady. And what your master did to you? Scandalous."

He turned, retreating a few steps before turning back and seeming to admire his handy work. Dawn's tongue lashed out, wetting her lips for a second, before she shook her head.

"So, what? It's not… it's not forbidden, per my contract. You're going to what, tease me? It doesn't matter."

She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, him or herself. Crowley shook his head, taking a single step forward.

"I'm not teasing at all. Best thing about this new century we all live in is just how _freeing_ it can be. Good for you, exploring your needs. But, it does leave me with a little, itsy bitsy question…"

He was almost on top of her now, staring down at her. She felt the need to twitch, to move, anything to break the power of his gaze. But she feared looking weak. She held her ground.

"What would that be?"

He leaned down until his lips were just barely touching her ear. "Why not ask me to play with you?"

At this, she did retreat a step. She glared at the demon. "What?"

He shrugged, turning away from her. "You're a strong girl. You've sought out a demon, made a deal. You work with Slayers. You can hold your own in a fight, from what I'm told. Those people, in that club… they can't give you what you crave, not really. You could probably take most, if not all of them, in a fight. That's not what a submissive needs—not one from your background, anyway. You want to feel the danger. You want to feel like what's happening is out of your control—even when it isn't. So… who better to give that to you than me? Tell me, Dawnie," he said, turning on heel. "What's the one scene you haven't asked for at the club? The one thing you've wanted so badly to do but haven't had the heart to ask for?"

A voice in her head—that sounded suspiciously like her sister's—screamed at her to tell the demon to go fuck himself. But the stinging on her back, the memories of several Thursdays past, the fact that she was still in her damn fetish gear underneath this stupid coat, made her _want_.

"I can't trust you," she whispered.

"I'll play by the rules. You have my word."

Dawn's heart skipped a beat. If Crowley was true about one thing, and one thing only, it was that he was a demon of his word. He had one rule: make a deal, keep it. It was the whole basis of his reign as king.

"If I safe-word…"

"I'll listen. I've cleared the whole building of demons, dear. Give it to me. Your darkest fantasy. I'll make it a reality."

She trembled a bit, refusing to meet his eyes. She couldn't believe she was even considering this. But, even as she questioned herself, her intentions, she began speaking.

"When I was a teen, I went on a date with a vampire. I d-didn't know he was a vampire at the time. I ran from him when help came, because he was going to kill me. He chased me in the woods, pinned me to the ground, and when he went to bite me, I killed him. I thought, when he had me pinned there, that he was going to… that he might try to… And I know it's wrong, and horrible, and disgusting…"

"But?"

Dawn licked her lips again, wondering how they kept getting so dry. "But I wanted him to take me. To fuck me right there on the ground, while I struggled against him and screamed for help."

She could feel the heat of her face. She dared look up at Crowley, who looked like he was having every great birthday and Christmas present he had ever had right at that moment.

"A consensual non-consensual scene. That's just…"

"Gross, I know," she said, looking away.

"Delightful."

Her gaze shot back over to him. He crossed the short distance between the two of them. He held up one finger, speaking quickly.

"Here's the deal. One rule. You do not run outside of this building. Otherwise, you can run anywhere inside, no room is off limits. I'll give you a five-minute head start, after you've given me your safe words, of course. Then, I'll come for you and the scene will begin. How does that sound?"

Dawn's whole body was vibrating. "No visible marks. Nothing that'll leave a scar."

"Of course," he grinned. "But I do get to hurt you, so long as I obey those two rules?"

"As long as I don't safe word… sure."

"And those safe words are…?"

"Red for stop, green for good to go. I usually use yellow if I need to slow down."

"Will you use it tonight?"

She checked in with herself, mentally. Then, she shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Excellent. So, are you ready?"

She stared at him, trying to decide if she really was going to go through with this. After a moment, she tore away her overcoat and slipped off her heels, tossing them both onto a table to her left.

"Ready."

He leaned forward, not breaking eye contact. "Go."

She whirled and ran.

#

It was amazing what anticipation could do for sex. He hadn't even touched the girl yet, but already Crowley's cock was twitching and growing slowly hard. He glanced down at his watch, noting that only a mere thirty seconds had passed. He grinned. His muscles twitched, longing to give chase. But he was nothing if not a man of his word. Five minutes. He tapped his expensive shoe against the floor, fighting the urge to watch the hands of his watch as they moved lazily across the face. He listened as best as he could as he heard her footfalls growing farther and farther away. He sighed as he finally dared another glance at his watch. Two minutes had passed.

He let out a little frustrated growl, followed by a chuckle. As much as he wanted to charge after the girl and give her _exactly_ what she wanted, he had to yield to his previous wisdom. It wouldn't be a real chase if he had left soon after her. He could appear anywhere he wanted in this building, and, when he wanted, he could call upon his supernatural powers to move much quicker than Dawn could. Giving her the chance to run and hide made the scene more real, more visceral, and made his entire meatsuit tingle with the anticipation of every little thing he would do to the girl. He moved a bit closer to the doors of the throne room, glancing at his watch. He was down to the final minute now and could not tear his eyes away from the second hand as it ticked down.

_Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven_ …

He blew out a puff of air, using his supernatural gifts to listen for the girl. He could barely make it out, but it seemed as if she had moved upstairs a level and was running along a hall that would be to the right of where he was now. He grinned, turning back to his watch.

_Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six_ …

His cock twitched again, and his grin grew a touch feral with a hint of malicious mania. He could hear her feet, ever so slightly, scurry as it seemed as if she were trying to decide a direction to go in. Crowley was standing in the threshold of the throne room now, as if some mystical barrier was holding him in place. He glanced down at his watch and chuckled.

"Five, four, three, two, one… Showtime," he muttered.

He snapped his fingers and appeared a floor above where he had been, but on the far-left side—the better to give the girl the illusion of having evaded him. He shoved a hand in his pants' pocket, his other hand raising to be held in front of him, as if he might do something with it at any moment. He still had a grin affixed to his face as he began a leisurely pace up the hall. His ears were practically pricked in anticipation of any sound Dawn might make. He could hear the dainty smacks of her bare feet on the concrete floor several feet ahead of him. He passed the stairwell that would have brought him from the first floor to this one.

"Dawn? Dawnie, darling? This would go much easier if you would just _submit_ to me," he called, placing a delicate emphasis on the word "submit."

He chuckled to himself. Of course, this was all pretend. Dawn had—the moment she had bolted from the throne room—agreed to let him fuck her, but the pretending was the point. Somewhere, deep in the darkest corner of her mind, Dawn Summers wanted the thrill of being taken against her will, without the real danger of it. And Crowley had to admit that it had been an age since a woman had put up a fight. Not that he particularly got off on taking women against their will, but a little bite wouldn't hurt. Ever since he had become king, there was no end to his more than willing bedmates. He missed the challenge, the ones of them that would wrestle with the decision.

This would be just as satisfying for him as it would be for her.

"Dawn? Where have you gotten to now, pet?" he called.

His answer was the sound of a slamming door in the distance. He rounded the next corner, following the source of the sound until he arrived at the door—a closed one, of course, at the end of that hall—that he knew the noise must have come from.

Another thing that thrilled him about this girl's naughty little fantasy? Dawn was smart. She wasn't playing a dumb movie heroine, readying herself for a swoon and a plea for someone to save her. No, she was playing for survival of the fittest, winner takes all. Crowley glanced over at the door. That, of course, meant that there was no way in Hell that she was in the room behind that door. She would never corner herself like that. It wouldn't give the same thrill as being caught, pinned, by her pursuer. Crowley wetted his lips with his tongue.

She was close. _Real_ close. It was probable that she was hiding just around the corner—which led to a dead-end hall. She was waiting for him to take the bait, to go into the room to check. She didn't realize that he knew her inner workings so well.

Poor, sweet, Dawnie. Crowley reached over and opened the door, deliberately letting the semi-rusty hinges squeak as he disappeared and reappeared across the opening for the hall, facing back the way he had came. He pressed himself into the small indention of a doorway as, sure enough, Dawn took the sound of the door to mean that he had fallen into her trap. She stepped into the hall, of course not looking Crowley's way and only having eyes for the open door, as quietly as she could. He stepped out, leaning against the wall.

"There you are," he said.

She started nearly a foot into the air, squeaked, whirled, and ran. Crowley snapped his fingers and he was at the other end of her trail before she could even slow. He caught her in his arms, quickly holding tight to her.

Sinners and saints, this girl did _not_ disappoint. She could have given up then and there, letting Crowley do whatever to her right there in the hallway, but that wasn't what Dawn craved. No, she kicked, bit, and screamed at him to let her go.

Crowley was hard as a damn diamond now. He held Dawn fast, holding her chest tight to his as she let out a little growl-scream.

"Let me go!" she demanded.

"Not until I've had my fun," he said.

In a blink, they went from the hall to his private room. It was formerly an office of the head administrator of the asylum and was even equipped with a fireplace. He had outfitted it in Persian rugs, richly colored drapes, and a large four-poster bed done in deep red and gold. He shoved Dawn back until she was falling against the foot of the bed. Snapping his fingers once, a loud _thunk_ indicated that the doors leading out of the room were now locked shut. He grinned.

"Let the games begin, hmm?"

#

Dawn wasn't stupid. She knew she could be in real, _very real_ , danger here. Crowley's power was no joke, and despite appearances, his supernatural status as a demon gave him more than enough physical power to toss her about like a rag doll. She placed her hands on the satin comforter of the bed, eyes wide as she stared at the King of Hell slowly approaching her.

She couldn't remember the last time any situation had made her this wet.

She tried to scramble away from the bed, but he was on her too quickly, a careless flick of his hand making it so that some invisible force held her in place.

"Don't," she snapped as he leaned in.

"I think we're long past the point where you can give orders," he said, dipping his head to capture her lips with his.

Dawn had done extensive research when she had first thought up doing a deal with this demon. She knew he had once been King of the Crossroads, and she knew how demon deals were traditionally sealed. She hadn't gotten that, given that theirs was not a traditional demon deal—even if her soul were still involved. Now that Crowley was kissing her, roughly taking her mouth with his tongue, she realized that she may have missed out on a hidden perk to her deal. Granted, she also had the feeling that this particular kiss had a bit more gusto to it than his deal kisses.

He broke the embrace, grinning at her like a predator who knew it wasn't going hungry tonight. The red lipstick that Dawn had chosen to wear to the club tonight was now smeared across his lips, looking not unlike a bloodstain. She tried to wriggle against her invisible restraints, trying to give her nethers some kind of friction to relieve some of the tension that was forming. But she was stuck, with Crowley looming over her. He chuckled, running a finger down her cheek. She flinched, partly because she remembered that this was a scene and partly because that small logical voice in her brain was still constantly reminding her that this was Crowley, King of Hell. He chuckled at her reaction, his hand moving to her shoulder, squeezing it a little harder than necessary.

"Aw, sweet little Dawnie. So loyal and obedient to those men in black leather at your little club. But get someone with _real_ power? You're terrified."

"Let me go," she whispered, desperately hoping that he didn't listen.

His hand shot back up, gripping her chin and cheeks, hard. "You don't get to leave this room until I'm good and done with you, understood?"

She tried to squirm again and found herself still immobile. However, he gripped her shoulder, flipping her easily about so that her front was now against the foot of the bed. She growled and screamed, as she was now freed—only Crowley's body, complete with clear erection—held her in place. She felt the demon grip the zipper of her dress, yanking it down so that it rubbed against her tender flesh. She hissed and struggled as he pulled the dress free from her body, letting it puddle in the floor about her feet.

A faint blush crept into her cheeks. She knew the marks from her Dom would still be clearly visible, as well as the only stitch of undergarment she wore tonight—a black lacy thong. His fingers danced down her back as she bucked and twisted against him, trying at her odd angle to kick at him—but to no avail. He was laughing at her as he reached the thong and tore it easily from her. She was nude before him now.

His hands snaked around her front, finding her erect nipples. He pinched and pulled at them, hard enough to hurt but in a way that was most pleasurable. Dawn bit back a moan that was crawling its way up her throat.

"Stop," she snapped. "Let me go! Don't do this!"

Her response was the sound of his fly unzipping. Unseen by the King of Hell, her eyes widened. He was going to fuck her now, so soon? Yes, it made sense for the scene, but… Well, honestly Dawn was hoping it would drag it out a bit. She ceased trying to buck him off, instead gripping the bed and trying now to pull herself forward and out from his hold.

"Aw, trying to get away? But Dawn, I thought you might like the feel of a nice, hard, big dick fucking you after tonight."

That was the only warning she got, which was okay. She was more than wet enough for him. He slid into her to the hilt, the two of them moaning in time.

"Fuck! I knew you wanted this, my little whore. I'm gonna give it to you rough, dear. Just the way you like it."

With that, he grabbed her hips with an iron hold and began to pound into her, nonstop. She groaned, clawing at the satin under her fingertips, relishing the feel of the huge cock pumping inside of her all the while trying to remember that she was supposed to be fighting. It was becoming a hard thing to do. Her orgasm was building fast, and her clit felt so sensitive that one touch would probably be enough to send her spiraling. But she rallied enough of her brain to manage a few moaned "stops" and "don'ts."

Crowley stopped thrusting into her, withdrawing with a growl of his own. She bit down the groan of disappointment. That feeling didn't linger as he gripped her hips once more—a little thrill of pain running the course of her body as she was now sure that he had held her tight enough to bruise—and flipped her, tossing her up onto the bed. She landed in a partially seated, partially reclined pose, and Crowley smiled at her, snapping his fingers.

"Perfect," he said, and Dawn tried to move away, only to find herself held fast once more.

She tried to kick him, but he grabbed her foot, lifting it and running his tongue through her toes. She was half-grossed out as she had been barefoot when she was running, but also kind of liked the feeling. He stepped back from her, out of her legs' reach, and made quick time removing his clothing. His impressive member drew her eyes, as the rest of him was about what she had always imagined—muscled, but not overly, a smattering of dark hair across his chest. But his cock stood ready, still slicked with her juices. Unconsciously, she licked her lips as she saw him draw closer.

"Are we wanting a taste?" he asked.

She blinked, coming back to the real world, and shook her head. He laughed.

"You know what, I was just going to lick that sweet little pussy of yours, but I think I have a better idea."

He moved to the side of the bed. He reached over, gripped her by her hair, and drug her to the head of the bed, laying her flat against the pillows. Then, he climbed on top of her, his head facing her feet.

"Be a good little slut and suck my cock, and I'll make sure you come hard, okay?"

He leaned forward, pushing back with his hips until his cock was being shoved into her mouth. He hit the back of her throat, barely causing a gag thanks to her previous training as a submissive, at the same time his wicked tongue began dancing over sensitized clit. She knew she should fight, because of the scene, but damn it, was his cock too enticing. She sucked hard at it, using her tongue to dance around its mushroom head and up and down his shaft as she worked her head back and forth.

He hissed in pleasure, moaning into her pussy as he licked and sucked at her precious little bundle of nerves. After a moment of him deliciously eating her out, she felt him slide a pair of his fingers into her soaking sex. She moaned around his dick, sucking harder as he pumped the digits in and out of her, his tongue still moving rapidly over her clit.

She was right on the edge, so close that if he stopped now she was sure she might cry. Her hips bucked toward him, and she began to whisper and moan nonsensical words around his erect member as she still sucked on as hard as she could. Finally, that little dam of pressure broke within her, and she came screaming as loudly as she could against him.

He was off her and positioned in between her legs before she had even regained her senses. He slid his dick inside of her still quivering walls, leaning forward to grasp her hands by the wrists and holding them, pinned, above her head.

"Fight me, whore. Or do you _want_ to come around the King of Hell's cock? Do you _want_ to be my wanton little slut, moaning for more as I fuck you into the mattress?"

"No, no," she moaned, pushing as much as she could against his hold of her wrists.

If truth be told, she was still reeling and just didn't have the energy to keep up the fight. He fucked her hard as she brought her legs up, trying to kick off him, but finding no purchase.

"Stop," she moaned, although she desperately wanted to scream "harder."

As if reading her mind, Crowley picked up the pace, whipping his hips into her with bruising speed, and Dawn could feel another orgasm building. Her hips canted upward, making it so that he hit her G-spot more fully each time he entered.

"Fuck," she whispered.

"Hmm… say that again. Let me hear that naughty word from my little whore's mouth," he ordered.

"Fuck," she repeated, a bit louder.

"Say, 'fuck me, your majesty.' Say, "I love your cock.'"

She repeated the sentences, whisper-screaming them as the pressure inside her belly grew to almost maddening levels.

"The King of Hell is about to give you your second orgasm, and then he's going to fill you with his cum. Tell me you want it."

His voice was getting a bit strained, and while the force of his thrusts was still there, the rhythm was beginning to go a bit unpredictable.

"I want it," she begged. "Please, please, fill me with your cum. I'll be good next time. Please, I want it, I want it, I want it."

The pressure broke as she crested, screaming as her walls tightened, vice-like, around his cock. Crowley cried out, his hot seed filling her as her walls continued to milk him. Finally, when they could both take a proper breath, Crowley rolled off to her side, and she felt her eyes slide shut.

#

Crowley huffed, trying his best to look composed despite the fact that he had just come inside of the pretty little thing lying next to him. He glanced over at her, her eyes slid shut, as her breathing became slower and more even. He leaned up, gripping her face like he had earlier, jerked it to face him. Her eyes snapped open, fearful. Crowley's cock twitched at the look.

"What do good little whores say to their masters when they've come?"

"Th-thank you, your majesty."

Sweet sin, it was almost enough to get him hard again. He resisted his baser need, however, as he stood and redressed. By the time he was done and turned about once more, she was off the bed and slipping the dress up around her shoulders.

"This was delightful," he said, moving over to her and zipping up her dress. "If you ever get the urge to do this again, please let me know. In fact, I already have ideas for things I'd love to try with you."

Her brow furrowed, and she looked briefly disgusted. She stalked over to the bedroom door, her hand on the doorknob. She stood there a moment, seemingly staring at nothing before she turned her head, just a touch, back toward him.

"Crowley?" she asked.

"Yes, my little sunrise?"

She glanced shyly over her shoulder. "Would you consider next Thursday? After my visit to the club, and after your orgy?"

He grinned, the look positively feral he was sure. "Absolutely."

She nodded, yanking open the door. "Next Thursday, then."

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a con/non-con scene was inspired by a chapter of a fic called, [Master Mine: A Lesson in Submission.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004794/chapters/27163554) It's a Harry Potter fic, and I highly recommend it.


End file.
